The Valentine Circle

by Reinaldo DelValle

  And on the heels of his words, down the street, a group of black carriages turned the corner, four in total.

  “Speak of the corrupt,” Silas said.

  “And they suddenly appear,” Posy added, finishing his remark.

  “Damn,” Belloc said. “It looks like we’ll need to reconfigure our plans. Listen up. Something’s happening here that we can’t control, and it looks like the top brass is in on it. We only have a limited amount of time. Dalton, I want you to get yourself over to the Haralsons, the Lattimers, and the Dupuyses. Scope them out and gather all the information you can about their security measures. Once you’re done, we’ll meet back at my house, and I’ll have Silas head to the Haralsons, and Posy and I will make our way to the Lattimers. You will handle the Dupuyses.” He looked at his watch. “We’ll take the girls into custody at approximately seven this evening, when no one will be suspecting us to pay them a visit. Hopefully we won’t be too late. ”

  The carriages finally pulled up to the curb, and out came a group of burly officers along with their gray-haired boss.

  “Look at all these blue uniforms,” Posy said. “They’re serious about this, aren’t they?”

  The tall, thin captain approached Belloc. “Captain O’Hara,” Belloc said.

  “Inspector.”

  “I was told you wanted to speak to me.”

  “Yes, that’s correct. But not here, Inspector. Let’s do this back at the shop.”

  “You want me to go downtown? Sorry, Captain, but I have work to do.”

  “Not for the time being. We’ll let you know when you can resume your investigation.”

  “What does that mean?”

  A group of officers approached the inspector. “These men will escort you downtown.” O’Hara smiled at Belloc.

  “Escort?” Belloc said. “Am I under arrest? Why do I need an escort?”

  “No one is under arrest. We’re just taking certain precautions. We don’t want you doing anything else before we...speak to you.”

  Belloc eyed him coldly.

  O’Hara gestured towards the carriage. “This way.”

  “If I’m to go downtown, then I’ll have my driver take me there. I won’t have your officers driving me anywhere.”

  “I can’t let that happen. Don’t make me ask again.”

  “Just who do you think you are?” Posy demanded, stepping forward.

  Silas quickly stepped in front of her. “Posy, not now. You’re not helping.” He turned around. “I’ll accompany the inspector.”

  “No, the inspector goes alone,” O’Hara replied. “And you, rookie, don’t be so quick to step out of line.”

  “Why can’t I join him?” Silas approached the captain.

  Instantly, a group of officers rushed Silas, using their arms to push him back. Silas’s reflexes sparked without thinking, and he grabbed one of the officers’ wrist and pressed on it in such a way that it made him scream like a little girl. The other officers stepped back, shocked at Silas’s skill.

  “Silas, enough!” Belloc yelled. “Stay with Posy. I’ll be all right. I’ll go downtown and speak with Captain O’Hara, and I’ll meet you guys later at my home. Is that understood?”

  “But Inspector?” Posy said, grabbing his arm. “I can’t just let them take you.”

  “Step aside, Miss,” one brutish officer blurted out, taking his broad arm and sweeping her away like he was tossing a pillow. Fortunately, Silas was there to catch her. But unfortunately for Posy, her anger got the best of her. She lunged at the brutish cop and shoved him forward. “Try that again!”

  The brutish cop turned around, and without hesitating, backhanded her across the face, knocking Posy to the ground. Immediately, Silas rushed to her defense but was held back—barely—by Dalton.

  “Hey!” Belloc said. “I’ll have no more of this! Silas, leave them be. Worry about yourself and Posy. Save it until later.” He turned to the brutish cop, raising his cane at him. “If I were only but a few years younger I’d whip you like the dog you are.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Clarkson,” O’Hara interjected. “You’re dismissed for today.”

  “But sir—”

  “You. Are. Dismissed.”

  The brutish cop grumbled as he broke away from them.

  Silas used all of his strength to calm himself down. “Let go, Dalton.”

  “Are you going to calm down?”

  “I won’t give you another warning.”

  Dalton released his grip and backed away.

  Silas watched the officers escort Belloc to the carriage. He didn’t like seeing his friend being hauled away like a common criminal. He walked over to Posy, thinking about the right words to say so as to not offend her by pretending he actually cared about her wellbeing. That pride of hers. “Is your nose broken?”

  “No,” Posy replied. “If it were broken, that bastard would’ve been dead in a heartbeat.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. You can’t just go around shoving officers.”

  “You did.”

  “That was an accident.”

  “Whatever,” Posy said, frustrated. “What are we going to do now? We can’t go to the Daileys without Belloc.”

  “We’ll do what the inspector told us to do,” Dalton chimed in. “He wants us to wait at his home, and we’ll do just that.”

  “Dalton’s right,” Silas said. “You go with Dalton. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Where are you going?” Posy asked, being nosy.

  “I have to go talk to someone.”

  “You’re going to see Lucy, aren’t you?”

  “What’s it to you, damn it?” Silas snapped, obviously frustrated with not being able to help Belloc.

  Posy was taken aback, surprised by his sudden change of disposition. “Nothing. I was just asking. I don’t really care where you go. You can take as long as you want.” She was obviously hurt by his remark.

  “I will.” Silas turned around and made his way down a long set of stairs. He stopped and sighed, looking back at Posy. That wasn’t nice, Silas. Don’t let it end like this. Watching her go with Dalton, he suddenly screamed out to her. “Hey, Posy! I—” But she didn’t hear him. The hell with it. He turned around and began walking towards the streets, losing himself inside the white, wintry storm.

  “And where exactly is he going?” Dalton asked.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Posy said, frustrated and angry. She was still hurting from the slap she’d received from Clarkson, and she yearned to be comforted. She wanted Silas, but he wasn’t there. So Dalton was the best she could do. “Take us back to Belloc’s, please.” She began to shiver.

  “Here,” Dalton said. “Take my coat.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  “I insist,” Dalton said. He took off his coat and covered her with it.

  “Thank you. That’s kind.”

  “Not a problem,” Dalton said, smiling. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” It was quite obvious that Dalton had an instant attraction to Posy. He stared at her endearing smile for as long as he could before she began making her way to the carriage. He turned back to look at Silas one more time. He smiled. If Silas wasn’t going to pay attention to Posy, he certainly was.

  ***

  An hour later, Belloc arrived at Boston’s main downtown precinct.

  “This way,” O’Hara said.

  “I know the way,” Belloc said, limping as his leg gave him more trouble than usual.

  “Not this way you don’t.” O’Hara motioned for his fellow officers to lead Belloc down a group of stairs located near the end of the building.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Somewhere private where we can talk.”

  “Why don’t we just go into your office?”

  “It’s better this way. Who knows what type of people might be listening in on our conversations? Better for us not to take any chances.”

  “I see,” Belloc said. It w
as apparent that whatever O’Hara wanted to talk about was something he didn’t want getting out into the eyes and ears of the majority of the force, meaning that whatever he had to say possibly involved a multitude of corruption. “Where do these stairs lead to?”

  “There’s an old cellar that I had converted into a private office a few years back.”

  “What for?”

  “So I could have meetings like these.”

  “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about, anyway?” Belloc asked as he neared the large office located inside the precinct’s cellar.

  “There are some things we need to go over regarding the Decamps case.” O’Hara gestured to Belloc to head into the office.

  Of course, the Decampses. “What sort of things?”

  “Things that have recently come to light.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Sit down, please.”

  “I’d rather stand,” Belloc replied, tapping his cane. “Better for my knee.”

  “Fair enough.” O’Hara reached for a cigar. “Do you mind?”

  “Not in the least bit.” Belloc scanned the room. It was cold and dry. The exposed bricks made it feel like a type of fallout shelter. There were a couple of oil lamps on a table in the far back, and in the rear corner was a large safe housing a number of rifles. “So what exactly has come to light?”

  O’Hara took his time finishing his first few puffs of the cigar. “Well, I’ve heard that you’ve been knocking on doors that don’t need knocking on.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, Inspector, that there are certain procedures one must follow when dealing with certain...cases.”

  “You mean cases that involve a certain group of people.”

  “Precisely,” O’Hara said, sitting back and propping up his legs on the desk.

  “What exactly do you want to tell me, Captain?”

  “I just want to be sure that you know where you can knock and where you can’t.” He smiled. “That’s all. It’s quite simple. This door you can and this door you can’t. Black and white. Cut and dry.”

  “And what if there is someone behind the latter door who has broken the law?”

  “No one behind the latter door breaks the law,” O’Hara replied sternly, losing his smile.

  “Never?”

  “Well, unless I say they’ve broken it.”

  “And is that what they pay you for, the people behind the latter doors, to decide when they’ve actually broken the law?”

  “You see, this is precisely the attitude that worries me, Inspector.” O’Hara stood up. He came around to the front of the desk and leaned on it. “Inspector, you do good work for the department. You’re our best and highest-ranking detective. You never hesitate to get the dregs of the earth off the streets of Boston, and you do this with a very humble heart, always diligently, and, more importantly, always silently. You know, detective, when to keep your mouth shut and not worry about the things that are above your pay grade. But this attitude, this thing that’s been going on with you lately, makes me think that you’ve changed.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Have you changed, Inspector?” O’Hara asked with a darkness in his eyes.

  Belloc contemplated the question. He certainly had changed. The captain was right. He always kept his nose to the ground, operating under the radar, bringing in your run-of-the-mill murderers and rapists, never questioning the top brass. That’s how he’d survived in the department for so long. But this time was different, this time the crime involved a group of innocent girls that were being violated because of the wishes of a certain group of people that thought themselves to be above the law. And to make things worse, every time he held a dead baby in his arms, it reminded him of his beloved son. So he thought about his answer very carefully. “No, Captain.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  O’Hara walked up to him. “Look, we’ve been friends for a very long time, and as a friend, I’m telling you: I understand what you’re dealing with. We’re the police. We’re supposed to enforce the law and protect the people, but we protect them from common thieves, rapists, and murderers. But there are certain things that are dealt with in a different manner. That’s how it’s always been. You can’t change that. So now, with great reluctance, I’m supposed to formally give you a warning. I hate to do this, but I hope you understand what I’m doing.”

  “Of course, Captain.” Belloc ground his teeth.

  “Very well.” O’Hara returned to his chair. “The commissioner will be pleased.”

  “The commissioner?”

  “Yes, Inspector. This goes all the way up to the top.”

  Belloc realized how serious it was. “I understand, Captain. What is it that you want me to do?”

  “Well, it’s obvious,” O’Hara said with a smirk. “Stop knocking on doors. Do your best with what you got.”

  “So I’m still on the case?”

  “Inspector, we still have to make sure the public understands that we’re doing our best to solve this case, and I’m sure you’ll do your best to try to solve it, and when the case eventually goes cold, no one will blame you for failing to solve it. Understood?”

  “Ah, got it. Head down, mouth shut, and continue with my work until everything boils down. Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

  “Looks like we understand each other, Inspector.”

  “Of course.” Belloc lowered his eyes. “Well, I’m sorry to have been such a burden.”

  “You’re not a burden; you’re an asset to this force.”

  Belloc smiled, barely. “Yes, I’m sure of that. May I leave now?”

  “You’re dismissed.”

  Belloc gave the captain and his officers one last look before proceeding up the stairs towards the first floor.

  After he’d left, one of the officers approached the captain. “You think he’ll back off?” the officer asked.

  “Let’s hope so,” O’Hara replied. “For his sake.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Keep an eye on him. If he derails again, make him understand like you normally help people understand.”

  The officer smiled.

  ***

  “Lucy Reilly?” the man on the other end of the hallway called out. “Miss Reilly?”

  “That’s me,” Lucy said as she saw him waving at her. Lucy stood up from her chair, which was seated next to three other girls who were there looking for work as well.

  “Good luck,” one of the girls said.

  “Thanks. You too.” Lucy confidently walked over to the end of the hall, knocking on the editor’s door before entering. “It’s me.”

  “Yes, it’s you,” the editor said. “I was the one that called out for you.”

  “I know. I was just being polite.”

  “Very well.” The husky man with a large belly sat down behind his desk. It was clear to Lucy that the man’s suit vest was a size too small for his rotund frame. “So, what brings you here to The Boston Evening Globe?”

  “Well, I’m here for the typist position. Isn’t that what you called me in for?”

  “Yes, yes, I know that, but why are you here?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Miss Reilly, why do you want to work for the Globe?” The editor became frustrated. “Not many women are so eager to work outside the home. Are you married?”

  “No, I’m not. Is that all right?”

  “Should be fine. I guess what I’m trying to figure out, from looking over your application, is why a musician would want to sit around a boring office and type all day long?”

  Lucy thought about it for a moment. “I...I just don’t see music as something I can continue doing.”

  “Well, why not? Are you giving up already? Why? You’re so young.”

  “I think...no, I know I’m going deaf. My right ear—it’s not what it used to be. I...can’t listen to my
own playing. I...”

  “I get it,” the editor said, feeling a bit sympathetic. “I understand now, Miss Reilly. I’m sorry. It’s a shame.”

  “It’s...life.”

  The editor grinned. “Right.” He thought for a moment. “You know, you’re well grounded for a young lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How fast can you type?”

  “I’m very fast with my fingers. I have a musician’s nimbleness. I can keep up with the best. We have a few typewriters at home.”

  “A few?” The editor was surprised that someone could afford so many.

  “Well, my parents bought the typewriters a while ago. I used to practice my typing when they weren’t around. They didn’t like me using the typewriters much. They said typing was beneath me.”

  “Beneath you? I’m...confused. Where do you live?”

  “Brookline. Near Valentine Lane.”

  The editor’s eyes bloomed wide. “You’re...a Valentine?”

  “A what, sir?”

  “Nothing. Um...and what do your parents think of you working here?”

  “They don’t know. They’ll never know.”

  “And are you, I mean, do you normally hang around with the families in your area, in the Valentine area?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  “And you go to all the parties and talk to the families?”

  “Well, not all the parties.”

  The editor laughed in disbelief, and after a few seconds excused himself. “Sorry, I was just thinking of something. Didn’t mean to act so foolishly.”

  “What was so funny?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I think I might have a good use for you.”

  “So you want me as a typist?”

  “For starters. We can certainly bring you in as a typist on a trial basis, but I’m also thinking that you could benefit from a couple of assignments.”

  “What do you mean? What assignments?”

  “Reporting.”

  “Reporting what?”